


Cat of a different coat

by booktick



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Mentions of Character Death, Multi, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booktick/pseuds/booktick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arryn Baratheon wanted to be a just man…a good man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own none of this franchise. None. At all.

 **A/N:** This is an AU, it's based on the babe that Cersei Lannister lost, the only true child she had with Robert Baratheon. I just had an idea, and wanted to explore it, so here. Arryn Baratheon and I hope you like it. I am keeping the ages of the characters in the show about the same, Joffery Baratheon would be seventeen in this fic for example. Later on in the story I will most likely change some tags, such as the archive warnings as the story progresses.

* * *

The cool air was soothing to Arryn Baratheon's face. His cheeks were still hot from the fever, the very same nearly took him from this world as a babe. His ladymother often reminded him of it, especially when he would slip up and disobey, when he'd act no better than the butcher's boy.

His hands shifted over the bed, fingers grasped the furs tightly, "Please…" He whispered, hoping someone might—

A cloth slipped over his forehead. He opened his eyes partially; a smiling face stared at him. His ladymother was there, to heal him once again. She smiled. Her smile was beautiful. Arryn could actually see her eyes upon him, with such kindness she never saw him give his father. He wondered if his mother even loved his father, he knew Cersei loved Ser Uncle Jaime.

"Oh, my sweet boy." Cersei Lannister touched his cheek, caressing. She was warm, quite like him except her warmth wasn't making him dizzy.

"Your grace—" Someone spoke, interrupting.

"You had us worried. Your fever came on your name day." Arryn's mother informed her son, her sweet boy, just as she was sweet—and soft too. Robert would never describe her as either.

Arryn Baratheon tried to speak louder than a whisper but his throat was sore. It ached, much like most of his body. Had he fell asleep? The time passed quickly when he took to bed from an illness. Too often, his grace would say. It made Arryn blame himself often.

If he was _stronger_ …he'd be _better._

Cersei ran the cloth from his forehead to over his cheeks, dampening them even more. His tears and sweat had done that, even his hair were stuck to his face. He could barely pay much attention to that, his gaze on her face.

She made sure to always watch over his illnesses, like she did for the others. That was her greatest virtue—her love her children. What was it Uncle Tyrion said? Not virtue…redeeming! That was it. Her redeeming quality. It'd made Arryn smile some. Uncle Tyrion was full of well knowledge, no matter what his ladymother said of him. Arryn didn't like the term imp at all…though he never corrected his mother out loud, did he?

"You knew better than to be in the cold." Cersei spoke again, glancing to the side. Her face changed some, that same look she used when in thought, whenever his mother was in deep thought—it made his fingers twitch, like tiny needles pricked them. Lannisters deep in thought never ended well…

"Rain is not cold." Arryn disagreed, a slight frown that faded just as it had come. The raven prince was finally able to shake his head without feeling dizzy. His lips twisted some, in a slight frown, to stop from coughing.

She had looked at him that time, a look he was familiar with. Disapproving.

He glanced away. He realized who was in the room with them. Oh Gods. Not the Grand Maester. Not Maester Pycelle. Anyone but—…The man had on a cloak that made him mirror a monk and a beard to have one think him a wizard. It was ridiculous. The elderly man smelled of something sour, it made everything feel bitter on Arryn's tongue.

Arryn stared for as long as he could muster the sight of this inside his head.

This actually wasn't that long, after he felt his mother's fingers tilt his head back. Still gentle but determine, if that even made sense anymore. It was hard for him to properly think with the throbbing inside his head and the warmth spreading through his chest. It hurt.

"You mustn't spend so much time outdoors during storms." Cersei frowned when Pycelle cleared his throat, "What is it?" She looked at the elderly man with great distaste.

"It's just…The boy, your majesty."

Prince Arryn Baratheon is sick. That's what the man meant, Arryn had heard it from different faces but it was all the same.

If he had died as a babe, then King Robert Baratheon wouldn't have to waste time on him.

"What about him?" Cersei asked with a look of contempt.

"You understand he is still fighting the fever, you touching him could-"

"I think I understand when my son is sick. I've been at his side since he took to bed." She still wore a disgruntled stare upon her face.

The fair lioness that his mother was still held a very sharp tongue—even his grace was not spared from it. No matter even if it was Robert Baratheon himself. She still held onto the cloth, pausing in her actions. Her free hand, fingers were curled into her palm.

Her hair was pinned up today, one of the few things he began to notice. That and how he wore a loose red shirt, strings undone. Lannister Red. That's the first thing that came to mind.

The sounds of birds were heard. Was it morning? He glanced at the window while his mother berated the most annoying man ever.

He licked his lips; they'd feel dry again eventually. Arryn sighed softly. No, regretfully, it wasn't morning. The moon was still out and the stars still twinkled.

His eyes shut again. A sudden burn went through his chest again. He coughed, harsher this time. All eyes on him once more, as Cersei sighed too.

"You need to rest. To regain your strength, my lion." Cersei tried to smile again yet something was different this time.

Just as Arryn took another deep breath, the door opened. In stormed King Robert Baratheon. Arryn felt his shoulders stiffen right away, trying to sit up but a hand pushed on his chest; it made him lay back down.

What a sight Robert must've had, Arryn all covered in furs, paler than a Stark and wearing Lannister Red again. His freckles barely visible, even with the visible shirt he wore. Arryn tried to make his breathing seem less rough, to not appear as sick as he really was. He wanted to be strong like Robert was, Jon Arryn was. To not be weak.

"Ah, boy's awake." Robert near looked relieved but then he looked at his sweet ladywife. Cersei stared at the furs, deep in thought.

"Why in blazes didn't you tell me, woman?"

Cersei lifted her gaze, to look at her husband. His grace's frown deepened, which made Arryn's heart only beat faster.

"Because he just woke up." Like she was speaking to a child, "I didn't have time to run to you, Robert." Her tone was unnaturally calm.

"Where were _you_?" She challenged, "Not here. Like I was. No, we all know his grace is too busy…defending the weak, protecting others." His mother looked away sharply, back at him. The cloth moved over his chest.

Arryn gasped softly. He hadn't expected the cold on his chest. The raven boy fluttered those long lashes, glancing at his grace. The room was filled with tension. The Prince was use to it.

Robert still glared daggers at Cersei before he shook his head.

"Gods, woman. You never change." Robert didn't spare another look at either of the trio as he headed to the door.

"And change that shirt on him. He doesn't need to be wearin' that damn Lannister red all the time." And the door opened only to slam shut.

Arryn hadn't expected much either way, last time Robert showed any affection to him was when he embarrassed Littlefinger in front of the council and Robert slapped him on the back in approval. He was eight.

So much for a family comfort, Arryn groaned. The cloth was removed from his chest, damped quickly in the bucket beside them. He felt his forehead chill again then the cloth was put back. A sigh of relief escaped him. It was nice, to feel even the slightest comforts when ailed with trouble.

The room was quiet, exception being his heavy breathing.

"Get his medicine." Pycelle moved as fast as he could, which wasn't much really; handing her the vial.

"Leave."

"Your majesty—"

"Leave." Her tone raised some. It sent a chill through Pycelle most like, Arryn saw the flinch.

He did as told that time.

The vial was opened a moment later, her hand on his shoulder, "Drink this." She nodded.

In a place like Westeros, most would be distrusting of this…suspicious of the bottle. Which Arryn was, because just look how blue it was.

"What is it?" He made a face. His lips pursed.

"It'll make you better. Please. Drink it, let me." The vial was placed at his lips, and after a moments' hesitation he parted those lips. Cold liquid went down his throat, and everything felt cool inside him for the time being.

His mother smiled still, from what he could see, she was genuinely concern. She brushed his raven locks from his face, tucking them behind his ears. She showed concern for his well being, as any mother should.

"Sleep, my son." Fingers brushed his jaw, to his chest. Her hand was placed over his heart, and could she feel how fast it was beating?

"Rest." Cersei pulled away, nodding. She was missing her smile, her lips pressed together so firmly that it looked out of place. Her stare blank but he couldn't exactly tell where she was heading. His eyes shut again.

His chest raised some, and fell. He felt a heaviness in him, which grew and grew until his eyes shut again. Sleep overtook him, much like the majority of battles he couldn't be the victor.

And Prince Arryn slept.

_When those who sleep, sleep with fever they dream. Much like Arryn Baratheon did. It felt odd, his dream-was it a dream? It was still odd and cold, but he was walking through fog. His fingers brushed the fog, trying to capture it in his palms but to no avail, he failed._

_His feet brush the grass, and it feels wonderful on his flesh. It soothes him; it suppresses the fire within him. But then…his feet are colder, something more than grass beneath his feet. Arryn looked down, and saw that snow was at his feet but he's never seen snow before—_

_A flutter above him, he looked up quickly. There was nothing although the clouds in the sky, he could scarcely manage to see those, the sun was not anywhere to be seen. Where was everyone? Where were the castles and his family, his books—? There wasn't in the place he was, besides trees and fog._

_He continued forward, trudging through the maybe woods. He felt his hands scrape along the trees; the roughness of them, not smooth like the ones outside King's Landing at all. They were tall, and he could barely see the sky because of their greatness. They're grey, and look like they've been here for years._

_It's so cold; he's never felt this way before. There's a sense of…something made him wanting more—curious. He's sure the drumming in his ears is just his heartbeat. Boom, boom-it actually scares him. BOOM. He wanted to cover his ears, to block out the drumming but his fingers dug into his trousers. His eyes glanced at what he wore, it was all red. Lannister Red._

_Arryn stopped subtly when he came to open patch of grass, trees surrounding it. There's…There's spikes. They look so rusted and stuck to them are heads. He couldn't make out the faces of the heads, who they were, or why they were there. They smell like death. He wasn't sure how he knew that. Mother didn't like him being around the dead for too long, especially in King's Landing. The smell is like rust, he can taste it, and it's like smoke and something bitter. Arryn finds he doesn't like it too much and couldn't figure out how his father, King Robert Baratheon, could flourish in it._

_Was Robert in love with battle?_

_He heard the breeze whip through then near silence save for his heartbeat._ _He's stepping onward, solitary step, after that another. When he stopped, he noticed the gloominess. A shadow that wore a crown had its' back to him and it made his mind thrash violently that time._

_"Pardon?" Arryn spoke, finding his voice. His eyes flickered to the left, then back. There aren't any animals that scamper, no deer, or rabbits. This wasn't the woods, was it?_

_Why were their spikes-? Who are these-Who? This was wrong, all of this, there was something amiss—he couldn't place it yet there was that tickle in his belly, it spread through him. His fingers, palm, both felt like needles were prickling it. It was very cold, when he took a breath, and it was in the air. He stared at it for the longest, a shake of his head, distracted._

_"Pardon, sir, could you tell me where I am?" He tried again._

_He took another step but stopped suddenly when his foot kicked something. He looked down, hair in his face, and he had to brush it back to see. It's too foggy. Rubbing his eyes, he looked once more, oh gods—a wolf? Was that a wolf? It was too big, and it lay limp on the ground, at his feet. He shuddered, his breathing shaky. Slowly, he lowered himself onto his knees. His shaky hands brush the gory fur of the creature he found with all the further darkness of the woods._

_"What happened to you?" It was so soft, and it looked so innocent. Did the Shadow do this? And the heads on the spikes…was that the Shadow too? He looked up, at the shadow with the golden grown. The Shadow didn't move, kept its' back to the Raven Prince._

_Gods, he didn't ask for this. Why was he being punished? Where was he?_

_A high pitched screen from the Shadow came into all of the clearing. He yelped with his gaze upon the Shadow again. Arryn's eyes widened dramatically. The raven prince felt truly and completely alone. Baratheons stand against the darkness and the Lannisters defeat it. He didn't want to be a Baratheon or a Lannister—he wanted to survive._

_Arryn began to realize the heartbeat he hears isn't a heartbeat, it is drums. War drums. They pound louder, louder. It felt like he was being deafened._

_The Shadow rushed him. He covered his face quickly, whimpering. He feared ravens and heights, but this…this was something beyond natural order._

Arryn Baratheon's eyes shot open. Birds chirped outside his window, and he looked. Time had passed again, hopefully not more than a few hours. He looked at the ceiling of his bed chambers, deep breaths. He closed his eyes again; hand on his chest and Arryn prayed to the Gods, the Old and the New. For safety, for dreams and no more of the nightmarish things he saw in his slumbers. He didn't want to think of that anymore.

"It was just a dream." Arryn reminds himself, whispering, "It's just a dream, Arryn. There are no shadows here, they are gone." He nodded even, as if this would confirm those words. He opened his eyes, looking down. Where were his beads—? He hadn't thought of earlier, then again he was still very hot earlier and dizzy.

His beads. Arryn needed those beads; Jon Arryn gave those to him. Hands pressed against the furs, he forced himself up, along with a deep breath followed the action.

Arryn looked around; hair was in his face, not stuck to the sweat from the heat at least. He moved, slow as possible, to get his legs over the bed. When the warmth from the furs left his legs, and the breeze hit them it felt more than wonderful, maybe that's why he felt like he was suffocating, those damn furs. His palms rubbed his knees, and after that he rubbed his eyes. He didn't like to curse as much as Robert did, and even in thought Arryn felt a bit dirty doing that. It wasn't in him to be loud; his voice wasn't a roar like a lion's either. Was he a mistake?

"You're being pathetic, boy." He told himself, thinking of how Tywin Lannister would react to him moping like a lost pup. Lannisters don't act like lambs, they are strong. That's what lasts, like Grandfather said. It was the family name, not the people, or the conquests or the gold, however the memory of the name. Arryn found that hard to believe at times, for how everyone in their family treated Uncle Tyrion lower than nothing.

It things difficult for him to truly think the Lannister name was as great as people made it sound. Arryn wasn't like Tywin Lannister though, or Ser Uncle Jaime. The only thing Arryn believed was when an Uncle Kevan said he inherited his mother's love.

His bones still ached, though not like before. Before, he could barely move a muscle without a spasm of needle pricks hitting his body. Arryn's eyes drooped a little, while he began yawning. He was still tired, even if he nearly all but slept for days. It's cold again, he rubbed his arms fiercely.

Feet were careful to place firmly onto the ground as he stood; holding onto the bed's headboard then pushed him away from the bed. A few stumbled steps away from it, then he stood still again. A noise interrupted his worrisome mood on standing, a purring from the window.

Arryn looked again, noticing a cat lying on the window's sill. What in seven hells—? He stumbled some forward, still getting use to reminding himself he needed to walk. Arryn couldn't stay in bed. He settled on the idea of not to stay in furs, for not a second longer. When sickness found him, he never hated beds and furs more.

His fingers gently brushed the cat's fur, and he picked it up, pulling it into his arms.

His lips brushed its' head, kissing just as gently.

"What are you doing here, kitty?" Arryn knew he must've sounded like a child but he didn't care.

"What if Joff sees you, hm?" He couldn't have that…

Arryn smiled at the cat, holding it still as he walked back to his bed.

"Let's keep this our secret." The Raven Prince made a new friend, and he no longer felt alone.


	2. Chapter 2

“But _why_?” Tommen asked for the hundredth time.

Arryn looked at him for a moment before going back to his book. He shrugged his shoulders but that did not seem to satisfy the young boy at all. His little brother came running over and pushed his book down. There was a small hmph noise that Arryn could have sworn was a near scoff from his baby brother, but surely Tommen was past the pouting stage.

He looked at his brother again, and realized he was incorrect.

“Arryn.” Tommen had the best pout in all of Westeros.

Arryn sighed, looking up then at him, “I do not know, Tom. Perhaps Father wants to see Lord Stark. They were friends, remember?” He tried to pull his book back up however Tom yanked it away, “Tom, sto—”

“Why are you reading about dragons?” The little boy’s nose scrunched up some, a slight frown, “Dragons aren’t real.”

“They were.” The book was yanked back.

The blond boy looked ready to stomp his feet but then arms picked him up, placing Tommen in his lap. His arm around Prince Tommen, and he showed him the book again. Arryn watched as his brother’s fingers went over the drawings of dragons in the book.

“Who’s that?” Arryn asked, soft spoken as always.

“That’s Visenya Targaryen’s dragon.” Tommen grinned ear to ear, quite proud of himself it seemed.

“That’s right.” Arryn nodded some, clearing his throat. He could still feel his cough in his throat. It was forced down, forgotten for the time. Fingers intervened that time, and turned the page, “And who did Aegon ride?”

Tommen looked deep in thought for a moment. It made Arryn smile to himself, amused perhaps. There was the sudden gasp and Tommen nodded quickly.

“He rode Balerion!”

Arryn nodded some, hugging his brother. He ignored their surroundings, the darkness of the Keep and the mocking throne near by. He ignored everyone, even Maester Pyrcelle. That man smelled like the sewers each and every day.

“Balerion.” Arryn whispered “He had grand wings, dark as the Narrow Sea. His wings would nearly cover all of Westeros, they say that he could devour many a castle. Did you know that, Tom?”

His curly blond brother nodded his head quickly “Balerion ate children too, didn’t he?”

Arryn smiled some, however he shook his head “Dragons don’t eat children, Tom.”

The Raven Prince thought that he’d distract himself, to humor his baby brother if he had to…to bring some peace to the recent stress pushed on everyone inside the castle. His arm tightened some around the bright eyed boy.

“And when Aegon came…with his sisters. And the dragons?”

“He conquered Westeros.” Tommen nodded that time, with a smile of his own.

Arryn nodded too, glancing over the faded sketching of Aegon, and his sisters. Their dragons. He remembered going through books like this, that had been hidden from his father’s eyes. Arryn was grateful for that, he dreamed of dragons sometimes…

Tommen glanced at his big brother, “Do you think the dragons will ever come back, Arryn?”

Arryn looked at him, thinking for a moment, “Hm.” Then he nodded, “Yes. I’d like to think so.” That was a rather dangerous thought.

He swallowed some, trying to shove his cough back down again. Tommen was hugging a bit more, kissing his head. He tried his best to be kind to his siblings. He knew Uncle Stannis was not as affectionate with his grace but…perhaps it was different years ago, before Mad King Aerys and the fight for Lady Lyanna. He did not dare bring up any of that out loud, risk a slap to the face.

The echoes of steps approached, and Arryn’s head whipped up. He shut the book, much to Tommen’s dismay. The elder prince put the book under his arm, placing his brother down on his feet. He stood, book still under his arm, a hand on young Tommen’s shoulder.

Lord Baelish approached them both. The man seemed pleased with himself for some unbeknownst reason. Arryn was already suspicious.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew their were monsters in this world…but…he believed there was good in people…society just had a way of bringing out the bad and wrong.

But Arryn smiled “Lord Baelish.”

“Yes, a very good day.” The words came out like purr, soft as silk. A talent of Littlefinger’s…so good with words, a people person. Lord Baelish was quite different from Littlefinger yet it was tricky to tell which was which at times…

“Indeed.” Arryn said, lips firmly pressed together in what seemed a permanent smile.

“And how is Prince Tommen?” Littlefinger looked at the curly blond.

“Quite well, my lord, thank you.” Tommen grinned ear to ear, practically beaming.

Littlefinger didn’t miss a beat, as he nodded and turned his viper’s stare onto Arryn. The taller boy placed his hand on Tom’s chest, pulling him a bit closer. It was as if, in some sense, Arryn was trying to be a shield for Tommen. Even if it was only Lord Baelish he protected him from at the moment.

Arryn smiled all the same.

“And you, Prince Arryn? Read any good books of the late?” It was like he knew what the boys had been up to previously.

“As I always am, Lord Baelish though I do believe I will manage to survive too. Each day seems a blessing truly.” Arryn said with the upmost sincerity he could muster at the point.

He still nodded his head and his smile still rang true. Arryn felt his chest tighten however hard he tried to fight his cough…it always had a way of creeping up.

“That is indeed good to hear, my prince.” Baelish himself held a book in his arms. The Master of Coin and books seemed to have a close relationship, if one could call it that. Lord Baelish rarely sought out relationships on the personal level.

“Yes.” Arryn agreed “I am glad I may give it.”

Baelish glanced from Tommen to Arryn again “Well, I must…attend to my duties for his grace. Give my regards to your mother.”

“As always.” Arryn knew his mother would take only insult to such a statement especially from the great Master of Coin and Debauchery of all people. But Baelish nodded his head, and walked past them, then he was gone just as he had appeared. Arryn’s smile faded away, and he looked at his little brother, turning the boy around.

Tommen stared up at him however with those bright eyes, innocent if there was still innocence in the Red Keep.

“Why did Lord Baelish say that?”

“Say what?” He brushed his little brother’s hair back gently.

“You were sick again. He knew you were sick, all of the castle knew. Why would he ask how you were if he knew?” Tommen frowned some, narrowing those eyebrows. The curly blond haired prince folded his arms even.

“That’s what people do, Tommen. To be polite.” Arryn assured him gently, kissing his head “Why don’t you go play with Myrcella, hm?”

“But I want to read more of dragons—”

Arryn knelt down some, shaking his head “This must be our secret, okay? You know his grace doesn’t particularly enjoy fairy tales, does he? We shall have to keep this to ourselves if only just for now. I’ll read you all the stories of dragons if you do.”

He didn’t want to hear another long lecture from father of how the Targaryens were vicious creatures and their dragons had died off because of their stupidity. He wasn’t sure if he believed it anyway.

Tommen frowned a moment longer before relenting. The boy nodded some

“Alright, Ryn.” That’s when smile grew over his face “Do you think Mother will let me get kittens?”

Arryn nodded some “Of course. Perhaps on your next name day.” He ruffled his hair a bit. In reality, Arryn was not thinking of kittens exactly. The overwhelming fear that Littlefinger was someone aware of the fact Arryn was reading stories of the Targaryen and their dragons again.

However his thoughts were cut short, when Tom smiled wide and ran off. He watched his brother retreat, then looked away. He pulled the book from his arm, and looked at it. The spine was ripped some, the book itself looked faded and the stitching was soft. Arryn loved stories, specially ones of Dragons and of legends, all sorts of stories. Even though he was the age of ten and eight, he loved stories still.

He hugged the book so tightly, to his chest, and smiled. Arryn use to read stories to Joff, when they were little. He’d curl up in his brother’s bed, and they’d hold hands. Joff would even let him do the scary voices, they’d laugh as children do. But sometimes Mother would say that Arryn was too sick to do this, that he needed to stay in his own room. That made Joff upset more than once, but then Myrcella came along, and Tommen and things changed.

With a swallow, he wiped his lips the back of his hand. A soft cough came from his throat, but he heard the roughness of it. Arryn didn’t want to be sick again, they were going to Winterfell soon. He wanted to see the snow.


	3. Chapter 3

The Sun had yet to shine on the King’s Road, and clouds still covered the blue sky. It would most likely storm later in the night, and Arryn’s mother had told him he’d have to be extra careful just in case. He’d made a face but nodded, accepting her words and keeping his furs close to him.

Arryn Baratheon was sat in the carriage, and felt his stomach tighten up every time the carriage shook side to side. He was becoming nauseous again, though told himself it was apart of the recovery process. People were sick in the Capital all the time, even sick like he did. They got better…

Why did father have to see Lord Stark? Was this about Jon Arryn?

He looked down at nothing really, not at his book he hugged or his feet. Jon Arryn had died of a fever, or a sweat, whatever they wanted to call it in King’s Landing. The point was that his friend, Lord Arryn was gone and so was Lady Arryn and their son. They had all left King’s Landing, and Arryn hated it. He missed Jon already, Lord Arryn had not thought him any different than most boys. Why did he have to get sick?

Would he get sick like Lord Arryn did one day? Will he leave his child behind in this world? The idea of that made his body shudder, hair stood up on his arms and he decided to think no more of Jon Arryn, at least for a while.

Arryn bit the inside of his cheek so hard, there was the fear he might’ve broken skin. His lips pressed together in a tight line, Arryn hoped he wouldn’t get that burning taste of vile in his throat ever again.

Tommen sat beside him, and kept humming. Their mother had insisted on her children riding with her, though Joffery asked for his own this time. Mother nearly threw a fit but his grace put a stop to it with one swift sentence.

_If you coddle the boy anymore I’ll send him to Storm’s End._

Arryn had seen his mother’s expression shift into something more calm, no, not exactly calm.  
Mother didn’t do calm. Her storm grew internally, great and long. Her expression was like stone.

He shut his eyes, clutching his book before opening his eyes. He glanced to his left, out the window, and he still couldn’t see snow. Where they in the North yet? He wanted to see the snow. That was the main reason he came.

His fingers tapping at the spine of his book. While reaching over, he glanced one carriage up. That was Joffery’s carriage. Joffery probably enjoyed being alone, not being cooped up with others.

Not being sick all the time.

There was a clearing of a throat, and he looked away. He looked back as quickly as he could, without feeling dizzy that is.

His own gaze set onto his lady mother who sat across from him “Are you feeling any better, my sweetling?”

Her eyes are bright like wildfire but so was Myrcella’s. Arryn’s eyes are like the sea, and the sky. That’s what his Nan said.

“Yes.” He nodded some, looking down at his book his arms held. It was another story book, but Arryn looked back up. He could still feel his mother’s eyes on him, burning into as if a silent judgement. However she smiled so sweetly at him, and nodded her head. His lips turned up some, a faint smile.

Arryn only wanted to make her happy, when his mother was upset she’d get quiet and she would keep to herself. He knew his grace was less than fond of his mother, standing at a distance and shouting matches did that to a child.

He wondered if she liked snow.

“Will it take long?” He asked softly, pulling the furs onto his lap. It was starting to get cold.

Cersei shifted in her seat, hands still together “Not much longer.” Arryn truly doubted that. By the pace they were going, it’d be a month’s ride at least. Why the carriages couldn’t move just a bit faster, he had no idea.

Arryn looked out the window again. He could see the green grass, it was beautiful. There was a real calmness to it, something he wasn’t use to. He wasn’t allowed to go for too long in King’s Landing anyway, unless Robert dragged him out before Cersei noticed.

Even then, it was mostly hunting and laughter. Loud laughter that hurt his ears. Mother liked to keep him close to her, like Tommen and Myrcella, like Joff. They were her little lions, and she would protect them. Arryn was always told by Robert that he would be a great stag, just like he was, just like Baratheon men should be.

He turned his lips downwards. Not exactly a frown. His stomach was tightening up, nose tickled. Another cold wasn’t in his gameplan. He wanted to see the snow, and meet Lord Stark. He wanted to see the North.

Cersei glanced at her eldest boy, and he could feel her stare fixed on him. He never really liked being under her gaze. There was silence, except for the rocking of the carriage. Tommen was too busy playing with his toy cat in his hands.

Arryn looked over at her “I like your dress. It is most…colorful.”

That was a good compliment. He heard a lot of girls at King’s Landing saying such nice things, and his mother would smile, nod and move along. Arryn wanted her to know he was well. He wasn’t sick.

He was a Baratheon. Baratheons don’t get sick. Arryn could hear Robert’s voice, even though Robert was a few carriages away. The boy wondered to himself, lost in the Gods and stories. That’s what the loud voices booms into his ears.

“Thank you, my son.” Cersei’s voice was hushed. She always spoke softly unless upset. There wasn’t any real words he could think of that made him feel cared for than that. Her son.

Cersei never said Robert’s son. Her son.

She looked at Tommen, so Arryn stared out the window instead. He tried to open his book as quietly as possible. Pictures of maidens and knights, his lips turned up into his smile.

Suddenly the carriages jolted to a stop, the wheels scratching the dirt until it was kicked up into the air. He grasped onto the curtains on the window.

His grip tightened some and Tommen was nearly jumping up and down. Wha-

“Snow!” Tommen shouted right into his ear. His brother had a habit of shouting when excited though it often faded by one look from their lady mother. However today was not the same as the others.

Before anyone could say another word, Tommen was getting out of the carriage.

“Tom-” Arryn looked out of the window, not even minding the look on Cersei Lannister’s face. His mother was frowning in disapproval.

Cersei didn’t smile at all, even when Tommen started giggling and running around outside. They are pulled on the side of the path to Winterfell. There wasn’t any threats or sickness, no need to have stopped but they had anyway.

Cersei looked away, eyebrows together and the same frown. She didn’t seem to think snow was great after all, and simply pulled her furs around her more so. His mother was not fond of the North. The South suited her better.

Arryn kept his eyes on the white flakes that began to fall. On the covered grass, he hadn’t noticed the change at all. It come so quickly, those in the North were use to this though. This was a everyday thing, and Arryn wanted to see just how cold it felt beneath his finger tips, his toes. He bet it was one of the most amazing feels in the world, how foolish he must’ve sound thinking of childish things.

Should have just stayed outside the carriage with father. He’d have let me do whatever I liked.

Arryn looked at the sparkles that seemed to come off of the snow, like the Sun. It was very inciting, near as much as books. He bit at his lips, until he could feel dry they were. He licked his lips, and cleared his throat once more.

He put his book aside, without even giving it a second glance. He kept his eyes focused on the snow, even when Myrcella was out there with Tommen. Both of them running around..playing.

He started to reach, to get out but his mother’s fingers looped around his wrist gently, and Arryn turned his head back.

Cersei shook her head once, there would be no discussion, no arguement “No. You must stay inside, where it’s warm.” And safe.

He felt ready to pout yet Arryn knew hr was no longer a child and he must act according. That still did not stop Arryn from finally looked at his siblings though “But Myrcella and Tom are-“

“Myrcella and Tommen are not recovering from a fever.” Cersei’s voice was calming, soft, nodding for him to sit back down in his seat. She remained like a blank canvas after that.

As a good son, he did as told. He frowned some, picking his book up but still looking at the snow. It wasn’t fair. He’d wanted to-

His lips twitched, continuing to watch his siblings. She’d let Joffery go outing into the snow. Joffery is not often falling to fevers though, is he? It was not even a long fever.

Arryn could go for months, even years without a fever. Mother said it was because of the fever that nearly took him as a child, as a babe. She always said that, made sure he remembered. His mother always had a fondness for that too, besides for her children. A daily reminder of his well being, as if that was her duty as a Queen of Westeros.

He did not resent her but he wished…he wished to be more. Arryn did not think himself unhappy yet when he looked now at his siblings. When he saw how happy Myrcella was as she danced around in circles, how excited Tommen was as he hopped around making footprints…

“Arryn.”

The Prince looked away quickly, back to his mother. His lips parted and distraction in his eyes “Yes, Mother?”

“What do you think of the Wallis’ family?”

His eyes widened some though not a lot considering what she had just asked him.   
That had taken him off guard, not anticipating on her wanting an opinion from him at this very moment. Mother usually would ask someone older, someone like Grandfather Tywin.

“Mother?”

“We’re going to pass them on our way to Winterfell.” Cersei sat up straight, hands in her laps. She still had the furs around her shoulders “Your father wishes to ask for Lord Wallis’ sons and perhaps even a daughter to come with us, and then to King’s Landing. Would you like that?”

He looked away, at nothing really “I…” Arryn hesitated, unsure “I suppose.”

She watched him carefully though “What are their words? I’ve forgotten…remind me, my son.”

“Courage…is Equality.” He glanced at her then away again “And Strength is Brotherhood.”

He swallowed, biting at the corner of his lips “Will we stay long at Castle Wax?”

“I do not think so, we must get to Winterfell. Also, I am sure your little friend Erik wishes to see his father before, and his brothers. Do you not think so?”

What did she say? He hesitated, but smiled faintly “Yes, Mother. Of course. I am sure he will be most thrilled surely to see his Lord father and sisters." He knew what to say in this moment, to be polite and warm. Those were his traits when he spoke to her…

“Why are his brothers and sisters coming with us to King’s Landing?” He asked instead.

She simply shrugged “Perhaps to keep you and your siblings company.”

There was another long silence, and finally he looked away to the window. He felt like that statement…those words that came from his mother’s lips were simply a well thought out lie but would Mother lie to him about that, or was she truly indifferent to the idea. Arryn felt he could trust his mother, she did everything in her power to protect them, all four of them, even when father was out with others…

He always thought marriage was supposed to be something sacred. That’s what he had been taught anyway. Then again Lord Wallis before the current one wasn’t as faithful either, and even Lord Stark has an illegitimate son too.

Arryn bit his lip again, and looked down. His fingers reached over, picking his book back up then placing it in his lap again. He kept his eyes on it instead of the snow, he couldn’t forget about the snow but he could distract himself long enough.

Maybe Mother did not know of his meetings with Erik Wallis. But Mother always knew, didn’t she? Cersei Lannister always knew her children the best.


	4. Chapter 4

The ride to Castle Wax was rocky, even on the King’s road. The castle was large, possibly more so than even Winterfell, though Arryn wasn’t quite sure if Castle Wax was safer.

Castle Wax looked and felt cold, like the Winter he’d never seen. Tall, and very frightening. It was nothing like Harrenhal, those were ruins however this was…this was unwelcoming, cold and strong, much like his grandfather, Lord Tywin. The thought of that actually made a faint smile cross over his lips.

He looked down though, the furs tightening around him as his ladymother held him close. He wasn’t a child, he wanted to tell her this again and again until she stopped. She should be holding onto Tom, or Myrcella. He was ten and eight—Father even said he was an man at his age.

Yet her arms were around him, and he could smell of her perfumes. She had chosen something sweet this time. Something nice, that smelled like flowers and mint. Uncle Jaime liked mint—

“Stay close, Arryn.” She had whispered.

Arryn hadn’t looked at himself in a mirror lately, he could still feel the bags under his eyes and how cold his hands still were. He could feel another cold creeping up on him. It was always so tedious to have to deal with this. His feet ached, he should’ve worn another set of boots, something worn out like his grace. They were too tight. He glanced at his feet before looking back up at things again.

The sky was bright, and yet there wasn’t a Sun in sight. It was clouds and birds flying by, hopefully none of them were raven. His stare left the sky and looked at the carriages behind them all for a few moments. The carriage they had all sat in was much smaller than Joffery’s. It was so cold outside too…

They were all driven from their carriages into Wax courtyard. The Lannisters and Baratheons. It sounded like a joke one would tell at a tavern, but Arryn would know little of taverns—Uncle Tyrion might, he’d have to ask him later about that. But their family was displayed like dolls and prize horses that were to be sold off. The Wallis’ family, it was only a fraction of the memorable bunch. But he saw his father approach a taller man.

The man had dark hair, like ravens and the Narrow Sea. He had white and grey in it too, much like Robert Baratheon. There was not much else to compare the two other than that. Lord Wallis had an untrustworthy face, Arryn knew that, it was the same way Lord Baelish looked.

Lord Wallis had a fur coat over his shoulders and the rest of his outfit a dark shade of purple. His posture was relaxed, shoulders slumped. He didn’t seem at all bothered that King of the Seven Kingdoms was before him. He wore too many rings, and his eyes…his eyes would appear too bright to others, but Tywin lannister’s eyes were bright too. Tywin’s eyes were also cold. Lord Wallis’ eyes were manipulative.

The entire family knelt, Lord Wallis with a hand over his chest. Arryn could see a small pendent hanging from Lord Wallis’ throat, a stallion. Their sigil, it had a stallion on it. Of all the places for his studies to come into play it was here.

Robert Baratheon stood before them, watching them each as if they were vultures. The King lifted his hand, a barely noticeable gesture. The family stood all together. Arryn thought of mother’s handmaidens, they would all stand and curtsy together too.

But he took the King’s hand warmly.

“Your grace.” The man’s voice was strong and far too cheerful. The smile he wore was too talented as well but Robert Baratheon smile.

“Your journey must have been quite memorable if not also rocky.”

“Aye.” Robert nodded, glancing back at his family. All of them stood, all bright haired things, all but Arryn “Boy, come here.” Robert beckoned with two fingers.

Arryn froze in place, shoulders stiff even if Cersei still had her hands on them. He wasn’t sure what to do or say. Surely father didn’t mean him, he meant Joffery or his ladymother or someone important.

"My love, surely Arryn should res—" Cersei’s lips held a small smile, it was weak in the eyes of everyone’s eyes but it was Cersei Lannister and Arryn liked to think he knew his ladymother well enough to know when she smiled like that…it was far from weakness.

Robert’s eyes fell upon her and Cersei said nothing more of the matter after that, however the tension that suddenly filled the air did not go amiss. Arryn felt his heart race only faster, pounding in his ears.

_Please, do not make me stand beside him. Please don’t let me be in front of those eyes any closer._

But Cersei let go of his shoulders gradually and stepped back “Mother-” He could barely hear his own voice. He glanced at his brother Joff, who stared at the snow instead. He never felt more alone when Robert Baratheon called for him.

He found himself stepping forward then, his steps somehow strong yet slow. He didn’t want to come off as sick, Gods forbid in front of Robert Baratheon of all people. His eyes glanced over those on the other side of his father. They looked like wolves, staring at him in return.

Eventually he came to a stop, a hand slapped his back “My son. Arryn.”

Arryn barely had time to give his father a second look, his eyes widening a fraction but he managed to keep his breathing at a proper normalcy. It was getting harder to calm his heartbeat however.

_Son._

_My son.  
_

Robert said that, Robert Baratheon said that, as if he were proud. Arryn felt his lips twitch upwards into a slight smile before guilt overwhelmed him, washing over his entire body. Joffery and Tommen are your sons too, your grace, he wanted to say but he remained silent and smiled for his King. He did not even notice Erik standing with others in the shadows behind his own family at first, Arryn was too busy trying to smile and look healthy for his father.

"Ah, this is Arryn Baratheon. The mighty stag." Wallis set his eyes on Arryn and Arryn finally had to look at his feet.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord."  
"No, my prince." Wallis shakes his head “It is an honor to meet you. Your father speaks fondly of you."

Of me, Arryn thought, why of me? He was sick all the time and could barely swing a sword. It wasn’t really fighting with Uncle Jaime, that was just play fighting—Those were games. That wasn’t…real. He glanced at his father, who didn’t look at him at all then back at Lord Wallis. His smile grew some, and he laughed that time.

"As he speaks fondly of you, Lord Wallis." He hoped to the Gods that he sounded healthier than he had last time he spoke with father.

Robert Baratheon slapped his back one more time before pulling his hand away “Ah, so, where’s dinner? I’m starving." He put an arm around Wallis, and both men seemed to be the best of friends. They had forgotten the purpose of Castle Wax all together, as if his grace did not remember anything before the seven kingdoms came together as one realm.

Arryn had heard his father speak both positively and negatively of Lord Wallis and the Wallis family, it was never one feeling or one thought. It was several. He stood there alone for a long time, before glancing around in silence. He eventually felt hands touch his shoulders, and he looked back over his shoulder to see his ladymother.

Cersei smiled at him, and he smiled in return “Come, let’s put another fur on you." She completely ignored Lady Wallis, even when Lady Wallis curtsied to her.

"Your majesty—" Lord Wallis had said with a nod.

Again, she was ignored. Arryn tried to give a passing glance at her, to give a smile even however his mother guided him, along with his siblings behind him, into Castle Wax. After a moment, the entire Baratheon and Lannister family was joining, and Arryn glanced back over his shoulder. He could just barely see the Wallis family behind his own, all lined up together like a riot might start.

He looked away quickly, and glanced at where they were. The hallway was long and the walls were made of stone. It was very cold inside the castle itself.

Castle Wax wasn’t a home.

It was a cage.

It felt like hours after dinner, and tension was still in the air. Cersei Lannister had stood at some point, asking for her children to follow her after his grace had, once again, groped a maid of the Castle. Lord Wallis had laughed and jested with his father, but Arryn still did not feel at ease about the castle. Everything was cold and everything was not right in here.

This wasn’t the Wallis’ real home, this was the one before it. The one that was used during the rebellion, and before. Aerys Targaryen had a fondness for Castle Wax. They should in Winterfell but they were here, with all these eyes and ravens on them. Arryn had followed without complaint, and went into his room he’d been given. For once in years it was a shared room, he was sharing with Joffery. Myrcella and Tommen had gotten their own rooms yet not Joff, or him.

Cersei had insisted, though Arryn found it oddly comforting in some ways. He hadn’t spoken to Joffery in a few days, maybe a glance or stare there yet no words exchanged between them. Arryn noticed the candle becoming dimmer before he lit another, leaning over his bed.

He glanced across the room, watching whatever it was that Joffery was doing. It looked like Joffery was picking at the desk with a knife, but why would he need a knife—

"Joff?" He offered an opening to conversation, his book still open on his lap however his hands only laid upon the open pages instead.

"What is it?" Joffery spoke after time passed, which seemed to be a good ten minutes however Arryn hadn’t been paying too much mind to that. Arryn had been watching his brother’s hands, and the dagger that twirled on the wood.

"What are you doing?" He glanced back at his book, fingers running over it.

"What does it matter to you what I am doing?" Joffery slowly looked at him, his eyebrows narrowed some, like everything Arryn had to say was completely and utterly foolish. He must’ve sounded like Tommen to him, like a boy, a child…

He rubbed his arm some, leaning back on his pillows “I was just wondering…" Arryn blinked “We use to talk all the time—"

Joffery tossed his dagger down hard onto the table before standing. His brother turned to face him, walking over after another moment passed and each step seemed to echo in the room “I have to share a room with you and you ask me what I am doing. You moan about us not being able to talk anymore. What do you want from me, Arryn?"

His brother leaned over then, hands on the bed, their faces so close.

"Do you wish me to cry along with you about our lack of conversation or are you going to shut your mouth so I can enjoy some peace and quiet from this bloody castle?"

"I…" Arryn looked down, a nod “Sorry…" He murmured.

He felt a pat his cheek, and did not have to look up to see Joffery’s grin.

"That’s my brother." Joffery glanced him up and down for a moment before pulling away, walking back to the desk and grabbing his knife up from the desk. Joffery began spinning it on the wood again and Arryn went back to his book.

Castle Wax was not a home.


	5. Chapter 5

Arryn hated it. At first the snow was great, still was, but the bitter cold was more than he was use to. Even the water at Casterly Rock wasn’t this cold. He was wrapped in three different furs and back inside the carriage with his lady mother.

His mother had said he’d catch his death out there. Father had thrown a fit, that’s what Uncle Tyrion called it, and insisted on ‘his boy’ being out on a horse, like a man should. Cersei had asked if forcing a child into bitter cold when he’s recovering from a fever is what men do.

Arryn wasn’t a child but that had made Father frown and storm off. Arryn couldn’t wait till they got to Winterfell.

At least there he could stay inside castle walls and near fire. Joff kept teasing him, Myrcella called it taunting but he had shaken his head and said Joff hadn’t really meant what he said.

Castle Wax was cold and lived up to it’s name. Tall towers and long halls where anyone could get lost if they turned the wrong way. It was like a maze inside a castle. He had gotten lost himself once or twice while heading to dinner.

Myrcella had giggled at him about it. Arryn hadn’t found it all that funny. He had not liked the feeling he had when he walked those halls. Everything cold, and the walls felt wet when touched.

He had tried guiding himself, hand sliding along the wall while the hall itself was barely lit with candles. He would occasionally glance over his shoulder and then back in front of him.

As if something might have changed but the hall felt the same, looked the same. But every now and again, he swore he could see a shadow coming to his side.

It would disappear every time he looked in that direction. That did little to settle his nerves, his heart had started beating violently when some of the candles went out once.

Arryn had been sour for the rest of the evening whenever he got lost. He would sit in his corner and read unless mother told him to come and sit with her. He’d sit at her side along with his siblings. Always the Lannister siblings and Mother.

While Father grabbed at bar wenches and whoever was unlucky enough to get near the eye sight of Robert Baratheon. He felt guilty afterwards. Father had called him son, his son, that he was proud…he shouldn’t be thinking such horrible things about his own father.

Arryn wanted to be honorable and be proud to be the man’s son. Like Robb Stark was with Lord Stark. He could be like Robb, even though he’d never met the boy. Couldn’t he? Maybe the comparison fell flat after a while. He would go back to his corner and read again until it was time to go ready for bed.

"Your face will stick like that if you keep being so sour." He had been sitting one night before bed inside Mother’s chambers. The chair he sat in was red and gold, with lions shaped into the sides of metal, not too much surprise there. Though he had been staring at his boots for a good long hour until his sister, Myrcella, spoke.

Myrcella stood behind Cersei, who was at the vanity mirror, with her own smile. Her cheeks rosy as if she had just told a clever joke.

Arryn had glanced up merely once before going back to stare at his shoes. Cersei had that same small smile she reserved for her children before touching her daughter’s hand “Myrcella, head off to bed, my sweet.Your brother will soon do the same.”

And Myrcella frowned some though still curtsied and left in a hurry. She was always sweet and obeyed Mother’s words as if they were gold. Arryn hadn’t even realized his mother had stood and walked over until a hand was caressing his cheek, another brushing his hair back. He looked up at her, eyes widening some before he relaxed “Mother?”

"Oh, my sweet boy. I know the cold is cruel. You are not use to it but in time, we will adjust. You must be positively chilled." Cersei was already draping a fur around him before he could protest. Arryn shook his head though in disagreement.

"I-I’m fine, Mother. It is not  the cold."

Cersei hummed softly before sitting down beside him in another chair, nodded for him to turn around. Arryn obeyed much like Myrcella. She had a brush in her hand again, brushing his curls gently as possible like she always had done before. Arryn wasn’t sure if he should speak again, her smile wasn’t forced or displeased like it was with Father or Lord Baelish.

"Hush." Yes, hush. That’s how it was. No matter his age, it was hush, Arryn or rest, Arryn and don’t go too far, Arryn. Usually it was Maester Pycelle at his ear or his Mother. Father always wanted him to go out and take a stab at hunting deer. It would be better if it was Uncle Renly saying that.

He’d been four when he shouted at his mother for the first time and had meant to.

 _"I want Uncle Jaime as my father! Not Robert Baratheon!"_ Though his words had been jumbled and thick with pronunciation, his point had been clear. Arryn had stomped his feet and wouldn’t let anyone touch him. Only Jaime had been able to calm him.

But here he was, years older and Uncle Jaime was busy protecting his real father. Like the Mad King before, Jaime seemed tired at it. That was what Arryn heard whispered in the Lannister tents. Cersei kept playing with his hair, trying to make it curl in different ways and he just kept frowning at his shoes. His face will stick like that one day, said Renly once, and he’ll look like Stannis.

"Precious boy…" Cersei whispered, stroked his hair once more before standing herself. She went back to her own looks, sat back at the vanity mirror and started to brush her golden locks. Arryn looked up a few times, to watch her. He use to be at her hip since he was born, always at his mother’s skirts, at her heels, watching and listening. He wanted to make her proud…to be a Lannister.

And she didn’t think him strong like Jaime, did she? He was a precious boy, poor Arryn, the sweet stag prince who got sick as a babe. He would never be King like Robert Baratheon or Aegon the Conqueror. He looked at his shoes again and Arryn frowned.

He hated Lannister Red.


End file.
